


How Many Years Ago Was Hamilton?

by Resistance



Series: Los Angeles Kings [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Los Angeles Kings, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resistance/pseuds/Resistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jarret doesn't want to think about why he's in the hospital.</p><p>(The pairing stems from the '06 Oilers Cup run, bear with me on it, it's kinda cute.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Many Years Ago Was Hamilton?

**Author's Note:**

> [Jarret was taken to the hospital after suffering a seizure at home on July 3, 2013.](http://www.tsn.ca/nhl/story/?id=426867) _Kings general manager Dean Lombardi told the Times that he visited Stoll in the hospital and the "bottom line is that he's fine. Now the issue is what caused it."_

How many years ago was Hamilton?

Funny that was the first thought in my head once I could have thoughts in my head. I don’t remember most of what happened. I was standing out by the pool, watching the kids swim. Then everything went out of focus, I could hear water rushing by my ears. Then I was on the floor but I don’t remember falling. My body wouldn’t obey me. I couldn’t think. Jack was screaming but I couldn’t understand him. And then I woke up in the hospital. I didn’t open my eyes at first, I was too busy wondering why Hamilton was in my head. I couldn’t place it in that moment.

Chris sat beside my bed, staring at me. Even before I opened my eyes I knew he was there and I knew he was staring. I blinked a few times to adjust to the light before trying to focus in on him. He was still a little blurry, but not too bad. I tried to smile, but I didn’t really feel it. There was no pain, I just felt really tired. “Nice to be on that end for a change?” I’d been in a few waiting rooms and post-ops with all the trouble he’d been through with his eye and his head.

“No.” His voice was so monotone, I could hear the worry loud and clear. He stood up and moved over next to the bed. He touched my hand for a moment but let it go. The gesture made me smile a little more.

“I’m sorry.” I offered, trying to sit up so I could get a better look at him.

He put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back, “Don’t.” I wasn’t sure if that was don’t be sorry or don’t get up, so I did neither. “What happened?”

“You had a seizure. They don’t know why. They’re running tests on you. We haven’t gotten any results back yet.”

“I’m fine,” I said, hoping that was true.

“That’s what they said.” He didn’t sound convinced. He had that look on his face like he wanted to feel my forehead to see if I could go to skate, like he used to do when we played together and I woke up with the sniffles.

“Then it must be true.” I turned onto my back to look up at the ceiling. Memories of what happened were coming back and it wasn’t a good thing. “How’s Jack?”

“He’s okay. I told him he could come see you when you woke up.” He looked down at his hands while he was talking. I wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t bothering to try to convince me anyway.

“Call him. I’m fine. He can come see that.” I thought about trying to sit up again, but I knew that would be met with resistance so I didn’t bother. I just stared up at the ceiling again, trying to organize the thoughts in my head. For some reason, they weren’t sorting themselves out clearly. But I did find the answer to something I think I had been thinking about earlier. “Hamilton was ten years ago.”

“Eleven.”

I blinked a few times and then looked over to him, “It was?”

“Yes, it was 2002. That’s eleven years ago.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” It didn’t seem like it had been more than a decade.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Who?” He couldn’t possibly be having the same set of jumbled thoughts I was even if he knew the exact year I’d become a real hockey player by signing with the Oilers and joining the Bulldogs.

“Raffi,” he growled.

He was thinking the same thing I was, even if I didn’t know why I was thinking it. Damn. I frowned, returning my gaze to the ceiling tiles. “It wasn’t his fault.” At least I didn’t want it to be. I don’t know about him anymore. I remember that hit on Milan Michalek way back when we were kids in Edmonton. No one remembers that or I think they’d be counting it towards his record. But I remember it. Mostly because it was almost the exact same hit he leveled on me. I don’t remember what I thought of the hit back then, but we were both stupid kids, so I’m sure I thought it was fine. It wasn’t as fine when it was my head and his shoulder.

It had been eleven years now that I counted Raffi Torres among my best friends. We were both punk kids in Hamilton way back then. I was drafted in, he was traded in, neither of us wanted to be there. He’d already had a taste of the bigs with the Islanders and I had been top shit for Kootenay. We bonded over how we were too good for the AHL and how much the Oilers needed our help. After that, we had years together in Edmonton to try to prove it, even really solid Cup run. He was good, but I was always better, so he protected me and I scored the goals. Well, I tried to at least.

We lived together at one point. I didn’t meet Chris until 2005, I had been pretty open before that. I think up until then Raffi always thought he had a chance with me. He didn’t, he was more my brother than anything else. Okay, a brother that I sometimes slept with. But that was how things were back then when being young was a good excuse. And then after Chris became a Duck, Raffi and I hung out a lot. Ironically, through that really bad concussion I had in 2007, he was the one that helped me do all the things I couldn’t do on my own. He took care of me. I wouldn’t have bet a penny that he would be the cause of my next one.

“Yes, it was,” Chris snapped. We’d had this same discussion countless times and neither of us was able or willing to change our minds. He had never liked Raffi and I called that jealousy. He called Raffi’s hit on me jealousy, too. I ignored that. I had to. I couldn’t think he did it on purpose.

“Did the doctors say it was caused by the concussion?”

“No. They don’t know yet.”

“Then you can’t blame him. Did you blame Al for firing the shot that stopped your heart?”

He frowned at me, “That’s not the same thing. That was an accident.”

“So was this.”

“Jarret.” He had that same tone of voice he used when the kids had asked too many questions and he wanted to end the discussion before there was a danger of him being proven wrong.

“Where’s my phone?” I looked over to the empty nightstand, letting him change the subject.

“With your pants, I suppose.” He didn’t make any move to look for it.

“Give me your phone.” I held my hand out. When he didn’t oblige right away, I turned over onto my side, or as much of my side as I could turn onto, and gave him a look. He frowned at me, but handed it over. It was that or go back into the other discussion. I picked one of the favorited contacts and pressed send.

A nervous voice answered the phone, “Is he awake?”

“Yes, he’s awake.” I actually smiled a little.

“Dad! Are you okay?!” I could hear that he was moving and then voices in the background as he got closer to the TV where I assume his brother and sister were. “Dad’s awake!” More voices in the background, these ones excited. “I dunno, I’m asking!”

“I’m fine.” I tried to sound as confident as I could. “The doctors are checking me out. Big Dad’s watching me like a hawk.”

“What happened?” Jack asked. He was twelve going on twenty and had always been that way. I remember giving that five-year-old his first cellphone before he moved to Anaheim; he was wise beyond his years even back then.

“We’re not really sure, buddy.” That was honest.

“When can we come see you?” I could hear a small chorus of voices behind him including at least one ‘gimme the phone’ that I’m pretty sure came from my daughter.

“I don’t know that either, but as soon as you can, I’ll call you. Pass the phone on to your brother, I want to say hi to everyone before they make me hang up.”

Jack huffed but handed the phone to the next in line. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, George. Everything okay?”

“Mmhmm. Get better, please.”

“I will, I promise. Mind your brother and sister for me. I love you.”

“I will, too. Love you.” He had always been a kid of few words and I knew not to push him for more.

“Can I talk to Lilah now?”

“Mmhmm.” He handed the phone off and I could hear a video game unpause in the background.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, Princess.” I would never pick favorites, but her voice really made me smile.

“Did you get bonked again?” She asked. She was so different, so much more innocent, than Jack was at her age, but they all knew the ins and outs of having hockey playing parents. And for us, that included more concussions than our fair share. Lilah called them ‘bonks’. Big Dad couldn’t play hockey anymore, she said, because he was bonked too many times. I’ve had more than a few teammates snicker at that. I never told her why.

“No, I didn’t get bonked, I just had to get checked out by some doctors. I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay, Daddy. Jack says gimme back the phone, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you again soon.”

“Okay, Daddy, love you.”

“I love you too.”

Jack was back, no longer sounding nervous, “We’ll be fine here, and I’m in charge. You just get better.”

I tried not to laugh, “Got it, chief. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.” I hung up, giving Chris back his phone.

He looked at the blank screen and then back to me.

“I’m their favorite.” I felt better already. It was much easier to think about the kids and just getting out of the hospital and home to them, rather than why I was in this hospital in the first place and the fact that my best friend may have put me here.


End file.
